Land Of The Painted Caves: Jondalar's Side
by Inconclusive
Summary: An exploration of how Jondalar's affair with Marona might have come about. It all started so innocently...


**Author's Note:** It's worth mentioning, I absolutely _hated_ the way J. Auel dealt with Ayla and Jondalar's relationship in Painted Caves. It seemed like she took everything she'd built up between them and dashed it against the wall for the sake of a little excitement. I'll not even go into all the things that were missing from the book as a whole, but I thought the complete lack of Jondalar's point of view was a poor one. So, in the spirit of attempting to rationalise his complete 180 back into a place she'd already worked him through in baby steps in Mammoth Hunters, I thought I'd try and write a bit from his point of view, and fill in some of the gaps. I also thought that Marona couldn't have been such a bitch all the time, or she'd never have got any of the men she wanted, let alone Jondalar. So here I'm trying to give her a side that's at least moderately appealing.

-~oOo~-

Sunlight streamed through the broad-leafed trees in thin shafts, illuminating the ground on which the tall, blonde man sat. Many feet had made short work of pounding down the well used main area of the summer camp, and the once tall grass had given way to dry, level soil that provided the perfect flattened area for him to work. In the heat of the day most were either resting after their afternoon meal or enjoying the company of family and friends but the blonde man had stayed on, working through the heat of the day. His apprentices had been easily lured away by the delicious aromas of cooked meat that floated between the raised tents and small wooden barrier that marked the beginning of the flint workers' area, and Jondalar had let them go with a knowing smile. The temptations and excitement of the summer camp were too much for any young man to resist, and he didn't begrudge them abandoning their work on a day like this to enjoy the festivities.

With the sun at its zenith and beating down with surprising heat for the northern latitude, Jondalar had foregone his buckskin shirt and sat on the parched ground in little more than a loincloth and a tough piece of hide covering and protecting his legs as he worked. His skin, already darkened to a deep bronze in the summer sun, ran with the sweat of his exertions as the heat of the day moved from pleasant into unbearable. It prickled his skin, and the moisture ran down his deeply furrowed forehead, threatening to sting his eyes and disrupt his careful concentration. The careful blow he needed to make now required the utmost precision, and he knew well that even the best flint-knapper often misjudged and shattered the carefully shaped nodule at this delicate point. He'd even done it himself. In fact, this blow was the only reason he was bearing the sun. It had already drove most others to the shade and the peace and quiet he gained in their absence made concentration a lot easier.

He paused, turning the painstakingly prepared nodule in his hands and using his eyes and fingers to try and judge the best angle and place to land his blow. Another tantalising waft of cooking smells drifted past, and Jondalar felt his stomach rumble. He picked up the odour of reindeer from the recent hunt, and another more familiar scent. It took him a moment to place it: summer ptarmigan, slow cooked while buried in the ground. He would recognise Ayla's favourite dish anywhere; the herbs she used to flavour the meat were so distinctly hers. He glanced down at the nodule of flint in his hands, wishing that he could abandon it and join the others for a meal. Surely Ayla and her daughter would be missing him; but…perhaps they weren't. For a moment he experienced a flash of irritation. A year or two ago, Ayla would have come by to where he worked, a platter of whatever she'd cooked in one hand and a smile on her face. She'd never made an issue of it as some women would, never forced him to acknowledge her quiet and attentive actions, but she'd always been there, always made sure that he had food to eat and water to drink whenever he'd become so absorbed in his work. Perhaps it was because she'd always attended to him so dutifully that the absence of her affections chafed more than they should.

The blonde man shook his head, driving the guilty thoughts from his mind. Who was he to complain if she wasn't always at his side, seeing that he was provided for? He was grown man; quite capable of getting food for himself. And if he noticed that she wasn't as attentive to him as she had been, well, she was busy. He knew only too well how busy she was, and what trials she'd been going through. That didn't, however, stop him missing her.

Turning his mind back to the flint, Jondalar let his finger trace a hairline seam of colour in the dark grey rock before setting it in a comfortable position and preparing to make the strike. He wiped the sweat from his brow, tightened the leather thong that held his hair back from his face and let his mind fall into the intense concentration that he needed for working this piece. Finally, when he felt his body calm and grow still, he drew his tool back and made a powerful strike. He felt it the instant it happened; the way the stone cleaved in a neat, curved line – and let out a huge sigh of relief. The lines of tension fell from his face as he held the delicate point up to the light, admiring the smooth contours his blow had left.

A slow, slapping sound reached his ears and Jondalar turned, setting the flint aside and squinting against the sun. There, leaning against the delineating post that marked the boundary of the flint working area, stood Marona. She was slapping one hand against her thigh, and her face was drawn into a smile. Jondalar felt the joy of his success fade, and his frown return as he regarded her.

"Marona," he greeted her, but his voice was curt. For her to be here, out in the middle of the day when all others were eating and relaxing, made him uncomfortable. He experienced a moment of guilt at the thought of them being seen together, and turned back to his work, wishing that she would leave.

She didn't oblige. "I always did like watching you work," she said, her voice drifting pleasantly across the gap. She always had had a nice voice; it was middling pitched and rich, although Jondalar knew well how shrill and keen that voice could become when it was contorted with anger.

He turned, looking back at her, feeling at a loss. They had barely exchanged a sentence since he'd returned with Ayla, and Marona had made it quite clear what she thought of his decision to leave. Since she'd moved away from the Ninth Cave he'd barely even set eyes on her, yet here she was.

"How is the Fifth Cave?" he asked, uninterested in the answer and trying to hide it. Politeness had been fed to him with his mother's milk, even if he felt less than fond of the recipient.

Marona shrugged, and it was enough for him to see that her normally tight fitting top hung a little loose. She'd lost weight, perhaps a little too much. There were still more curves to her than most women, but he could see that she didn't look as well as she used to. "It's good enough, I suppose. But I'm missing my old Cave more and more as time goes on."

Jondalar felt his jaw tighten and looked away. He'd been relieved when she'd left; it took the weight of his misuse of her off of his back. However he'd justified it to himself when he was younger, with age had come experience, and he knew full well that he'd wronged her by his leaving. More than that, he'd disgraced her, and whatever her own faults he knew that his youthful disregard for her had at least in some way contributed to her lack of success in finding a mate years later. Zelandonii held status and shifts in it in much higher regard and much more subtly than many of the other cultures he'd experienced, and in many ways he wished it were otherwise. People had been quick to look for reasons when one of the Zelandonii's most handsome men spurned her to make a Journey instead.

"The Ninth Cave is the same as ever," he said, shifting the leather hide from his lap and shaking the loose flint chips out to join the many others that littered the ground. "Give or take a few."

"How are you and your mate?" she asked, and Jondalar found himself turning to her once more, searching her face for the insincerity that he knew was there. Instead, he found only a flicker of regret, quickly hidden.

He frowned. "Good. Ayla is working hard in her training, and Jonayla is growing up into a beautiful girl. My apprentices live with us now."

Marona nodded and was silent for a moment. "It must be hard, being mated to one in training."

Jondalar's eyes roved her face again, and when he answered it was with a guarded tone. "It can be."

Marona laughed, as if genuinely surprised. "I'm not prying, Jonde. I know you two are closer than a pair of doves in spring. I'm just surprised that you would settle with One Who Serves." The _again_ fell silent, but Jondalar heard it as clearly as if she'd said it aloud. He hadn't missed the use of his nickname either, but he was surprised to feel a small flash of pleasure at hearing it again. This Marona, the one who was relaxed and insightful and willing to laugh was the one he'd been fond of. Without the threat of bitterness eking off her, Jondalar felt himself relax. It came almost as a relief to be able to speak easily for once.

"It is hard," he said cautiously. "But it's worth it. I can't say I don't sometimes wish she was just my mate, but I understand. Mostly _because_ she is my mate."

Marona smiled, a free, easy smile that smoothed the growing frown lines from her face and lit up the beauty that was so often overshadowed by her temper. Jondalar found himself smiling in return, enjoying the way her dark grey eyes crinkled at the sides. She really is a beautiful woman, he thought. It's a shame she lets that temper get in the way, or she'd have made some man very happy.

There was a long pause, and her lips pursed as if she were building herself up to speaking. "I never did tell you when you arrived, but I'm happy for you," she told him, her mouth twisting into a bitter little smile. "You made me very unhappy when you left, and very angry when you returned. I wouldn't have acted like I did if we'd parted in better circumstances, but it happened as it happened. I…regret acting in the way I did."

Jondalar realised that he was staring, his mouth slightly open. The last thing he'd ever imagined to hear from Marona's lips was something that might have, in a different light, come close to an apology. Granted, it was a rushed, almost unwilling one, and he wasn't the one she should be saying this to, but she and Ayla never had got along. Ayla was compassionate and forgiving, but Jondalar was also aware of a deep pride that ran through her. It was this pride that had prompted her to continue to wear those humiliating clothes that Marona had gifted her, in full awareness that it would shame the other woman. He loved his proud, brilliant woman for it, but there were times when he thought back on it and experienced an embarrassing flush of emotion. He hated himself for thinking that way but his upbringing had been strong and he knew that no Zelandonii woman would ever have responded in the way she had. He loved that about her, but there were times when he couldn't help thinking there might have been a better way.

"I understand," he said finally, turning his face away with a rising flush as he thought of his own actions. "I…didn't leave the way I should have. And I am sorry for it."

"You were young," Marona said, a mischievous smile crossing her face, "and you always were difficult to truly satisfy. If it took a journey to the end of the Great Mother River to calm your spirits then perhaps it was for the best."

Jondalar didn't miss the not-so-subtle innuendo, and though he didn't consciously respond his mind travelled easily into the memories of just how well Marona had satisfied him in the past. With the attractive woman leaning against the wooden post, her tight clothes accentuating her form and memories of the Pleasures they'd shared running through his mind, it was easy to forget how she'd used those Pleasures to cajole and control him. It felt strange to be speaking with someone whom he'd shared his time and Pleasures with, and yet no longer engaged with in the same way. With Zelandoni, it was easy. Zolena was no more; it was a different woman he saw now than the one he'd fallen for.

"I'm going to join Wylopa for food," Marona told him, straightening up. "I'll bring you a platter."

Before he could make an excuse, she'd turned, walking up the hill towards the rising smoke of the cooking fires in that sensuous lope that had always managed to captivate him in the past. A flush rose in his cheeks as he found his eyes tracing over her shapely backside and down those elegant legs, and he turned away sharply. He tried return to the flint he'd prepared, dislodging a few final chips to clean the line, but his heart was no longer in it. His mind kept drifting back to Marona. It had been almost…pleasant, talking to her.

When she returned with a platter piled high with choice morsels from the cooking fires, Jondalar graced her with one of his rare smiles. It was a guarded one, to be sure, but there was warmth in it that had been absent in those tense curls of the lips she'd seen before. She stayed while he ate, and their chatter turned to the inane; of happenings in the Ninth Cave, births, deaths, matings. It seemed that she really did miss living there; there was a wistful longing in her voice that she wasn't entirely able to hide when she talked to him.

"You know, you could always move back," Jondalar suggested. He experienced a flash of guilt as he said it, knowing that Ayla would disapprove. But why, he thought. If only they could get to know each other, they'd surely get along. Marona could be good company when she felt like it, and if she could overcome her pride and apologise to him, then why not Ayla? Jondalar had never been a man fond of conflict, especially conflict that had him as its centre, and he hated the tension that lay between Marona and Ayla. For the most part he held back, unwilling to get involved, but a small part of him wished that they could just get along.

Marona sighed, twirling a strand of her white blond hair between her fingers. "I could move back," she agreed, "but I doubt I'd be very welcome. No, I think it's better I stay with the Fifth."

Jondalar shrugged and turned back to his food. He still wasn't entirely comfortable being in her presence, but this strange, brief interlude had reminded him of why he'd liked her in the first place. It had been so easy to forget the good things about her after her unpleasant trick and malicious behaviour that he was almost shocked to hold a conversation with her that wasn't littered with verbal pitfalls and vicious barbs. Here, now, he could remember how she'd made him laugh, how easily they'd got along whenever they were together, the intimacy they'd felt, and how passionate their lovemaking had been.

Perhaps it was because his own needs had been going increasingly unsatisfied as Ayla progressed further into her training, but Jondalar found himself viewing Marona in a new light; one that was unmarred by dislike. It was a wary appraisal, but without their unspoken argument hanging over his head it was one he felt comfortable making. He saw how graceful she was when she moved, how her humour had remained sharp, and increasingly he noticed how these features combined with others to make her quite beautiful. Ayla had always been attractive because of her unconscious appeal, her very beauty heightened by her lack of awareness of it. Even now, she still believed that she was ugly, although she was finally beginning to understand the true impact she had on those around her. Marona, however, had been told that she was beautiful from the moment she was born and unlike Ayla she knew how to use it. She wore clothing that accentuated it, walked in a way that made it sing out, and quite happily used it to have any man she desired. Jondalar had always loved the appeal of a woman who didn't know her own beauty, but there was definitely an appeal to a woman who did.

Marona saw his face relax and his eyes begin to take on that look she'd once so loved. They seemed to warm, sending tingles of anticipation through her body as she recognised his unconscious interest in her and responded to it. She leant further against the post, accentuating the curve of her back and buttocks and letting her cleavage fall into clearer sight, and she saw the appreciation in the tall man's eyes.

A shout of children playing broke the moment, and Jondalar's expression shuttered once more. People were returning from eating, ready to hunt or gather or involve themselves in the many tasks available.

"Thank you for the food," Jondalar said, getting to his feet and brushing a few last chips of stone from his clothing. He graced her with a small smile. "It was…nice talking to you again."

Marona didn't have to fake her smile this time. "It was. Let's do it again sometime."

-~oOo~-

As the summer heightened and grew drowsy with heat and floral perfumes, Jondalar seemed to see less and less of Ayla. His mate's duties had intensified before the First Matrimonial and even once the ceremony had passed she seemed more distant than before, more wrapped up in her learning and her healing. The camp had come down with a fever sickness and she had been gone for several days at a time tending the sick. Jondalar bore it as best he could, taking on the duties she'd had and trying to fill the gap in their hearth with his presence and that of his family, but a lingering irritation and worry had been forming drip by drip over the past few years and it seemed to be coming close to overflowing. He couldn't fault her duties to her patients around the Summer Meeting, but in a guilty corner of his heart he wished that she were responsible for no one but him and their child. He just couldn't take on every task and fill every gap she left in their lives, and the gaps seemed to be becoming bigger and bigger as the years passed and she progressed further into her training. Jonayla missed her mother as much as he did, but she had friends to play with and the excitement of the meeting to distract her – Jondalar didn't even have that.

Long gone were the days when he could hardly bear the excitement before going to a Summer Meeting; nowadays he found that the demands on his time had increased, and as Master Flint Knapper everyone in the camp seemed to have something or other that they wanted fixing. He was feeling frustrated by it all, worn down, and without Ayla there he found himself becoming short and irritable with people.

Perhaps, he admitted to himself one evening as he climbed into the cold bed-furs alone once more, perhaps I'm afraid. And in a tiny corner of his heart he could admit he was. He felt as if he were losing his woman, his brilliant, beautiful, wild woman. Losing her to a force he could hardly name, let alone resist. He could understand her passion for healing – that at least came close to his passion for flint – but her increasing interest in the spirit world where before she'd been rightly scared came as an unpleasant surprise. This was nothing like the feelings he'd experienced when he thought he'd lost her to Ranec - this was more insidious. Back then he'd experienced a heart-wrenching ache just to be able to touch her; now he felt a slow, uneasy dread. She was around him often but as time passed she seemed to be disappearing further and further into herself. She was there, but not there. He talked to her, touched her, exchanged glances, but it felt as if he were interacting with a shell. The only times she really seemed to come back to him were when they shared Pleasures, and now…now we can't share pleasures.

Unable to put these thoughts into words, Jondalar ploughed all his energy into his mother and the child of his hearth, and when they could stand no more attention, he took to wandering the Summer Camp. Oddly enough, the less he saw of Ayla the more he seemed to see of Marona. She always seemed to be nearby, or passing, and if she did she'd gift him a smile that sent a lance of surprise and warmth through him. She made no show of it, but more than once she'd brought him water or food while he worked, or reserved a place for him at the gatherings. She rarely stayed long, but each encounter was punctuated by her smiles and laughter – and, increasingly, his. If Joharran and his other kin noticed, they kept their opinions to themselves. They'd seen the difficulties he'd been struggling with in Ayla's absence.

By the time the summer finally came to a close, Jondalar could almost say that he and Marona were…friends. Ayla's constant absence both physically and mentally felt like a knife in his gut, but the presence of another woman, one he'd once been close to and known well, seemed to ease that pain. It almost made him wish that Marona were returning with them to the Ninth Cave, if only for the company.

-~oOo~-

Night air closed around him, still heavy with the heat of the day and pressing close against his skin. Huge fires burning the remainder of the wood to be found in the area lit up the sky, illuminating huge crowds of people all drinking, dancing, talking and celebrating the final night of the meeting. Jondalar was engaged in a conversation with Matagan and the young man was earnestly quizzing him on some of the finer points of making an axe head, but his attention was elsewhere. His eyes kept flashing towards any gold head, seeking out Ayla's familiar form amongst the crowd. When he finally spotted her, walking abreast of Zelandoni, Jondalar felt his heart sink.

With a polite parting of words he managed to extricate himself from his apprentice and weave through the throng, finally catching them before they entered the Zelandonia tent. He grabbed his mate by the elbow just before she swept the drape aside.

"Ayla." She turned, her beautiful face drawn tight with worry. A little of the stress seemed to fall from her as she acknowledged him, and she graced him with a relieved smile.

"Jondalar, I'm so glad to see you. I couldn't find you earlier."

"I was out with Jonayla on the horses," he said.

He watched her smile, then frown, the play of emotions across her face clear to him after so many years. She misses being with us, he thought.

"Ayla," the One Who Was First interrupted quietly, drawing the young woman's attention, "I will go ahead. Please join me when you are finished."

Ayla nodded, and as the large woman stepped through the drapes into the darkened interior of the zelandonia lodge Jondalar felt his face fall. "You won't be with me tonight?"

Ayla smiled: a sad, wistful thing. "I wish I could. Timeran is still suffering from the fever, and Zelandoni has asked if I could help her tonight. The zelandonia are having a ceremony while people enjoy the Mother Festival, and she wants me to watch."

It wasn't difficult to spot the longing in her face. He was sure that she would much rather be with him, honouring the Mother in their own way, but that didn't stop the flash of anger that rose in his breast when he heard it. Ayla must have seen it too, though he tried to hide it, because her face fell.

She took his hands in hers, holding them and looking up at him with those beautiful eyes turned dark in the firelight. "I'm sorry. I wish I could be with you instead."

Jondalar shook his head and leant down to press a kiss against her lips. For a moment her lips parted and he drank in the softness of her mouth against his, pulling her body flush and feeling her flesh, still warm from the sun against his bare chest. She made a soft noise in her throat and Jondalar felt his desire for her quicken, and as the toned leg slipped between his own pair he was sure that she did too. Then she was gone, backing away a few paces with her denial plain on her face. For a moment Jondalar stood stunned before he remembered. Then his heart sank. She was abstaining – undergoing a period where she could not share Pleasures. He stood staring at her, the lust fading from his eyes and draining from his member. It felt like a rejection, and he felt his pride stinging from it.

She opened her mouth, but he cut her off, feeling unaccountably cheated and hating himself for it. She'd never refused him before, and it wasn't her fault this time. It was his own for forgetting, and forcing her to push him away. "I know," he said, and she shut her mouth. Everything that needed to be said was said on her face. He dredged a smile up from some unknown depth and was pleased to see it warm her. "I'll see you tonight."

Her face fell once more. "The ceremony is going to be long."

Jondalar struggled to maintain the smile until that too faded. He shrugged, ill at ease, then leant in to place a kiss on her forehead. "Then, when the Doni wishes."

Ayla nodded, but her face was downcast when she turned away. She cast a final glance over her shoulder at her mate's retreating back, but when he didn't look back she slipped silently into the zelandonia lodge.

-~oOo~-

It was dark. Jondalar staggered towards the light in the distance, the flickering of flames that said _fire_. He'd been trying to get back to the main camp after emptying his bladder into the bushes, but the barma and the wine many hands had pushed on him hadn't only made him need to pass water; it had made him very, very disorientated. He staggered between the trees and through undergrowth, weaving as his feet encountered unseen roots and potholes. The light of the fires ahead blinded him to the details around him and made his passage difficult, but he finally stumbled past the treeline and into the circle of light.

Most couples had already left the main camp when he arrived; he knew because he'd passed more than one pair entangled together in the bushes. Those left were talking loudly and dancing to the few musicians still playing a somewhat fractured beat. Jondalar tripped over a discarded cup as he neared the fire, and then a hand was reaching out to steady him and he found himself staring into the dark grey eyes of a familiar face.

"Marona," he slurred, squinting at her face. She smiled a broad, satisfied smile.

"Jondalar," she greeted him, guiding him to the edge of the fire. "You've been enjoying the barma."

Jondalar laughed and slung an arm around her waist. It felt good to have a woman in his arms, and he leant closer to breathe in her scent. It was different to Ayla's, though no less familiar, and he enjoyed the shiver of delight that passed through her body as she felt his breath tickle her neck. With a warm, curved body beside him as they moved around the fire, his dark mood seemed to evaporate. Ayla would be fine, he thought. He'd see her in the morning, and they'd spend time together then.

"Have you had fun?" Marona asked, her voice low and teasing.

Jondalar paused, thinking slow drunken thoughts, then shook his head. "No. No Ayla. No fun without her."

With his head turned away he didn't see the way Marona's face soured, but he did feel her stop.

"Wha's wrong?" he mumbled.

Marona's face immediately resumed its languorous smile. "I was just thinking that it's a shame you have no one to share the Mother Festival with."

Jondalar shook his head again. "Couldn't anyway. Ayla's doing trials…"

The blonde woman easily understood the meaning, and her smile became a little more predatory. "But doesn't it shame the Mother for her children to go without?"

Jondalar shrugged, moving towards the fire again, but Marona tightened her grip a little and pressed her body close. "Just because Ayla is not honouring the Mother, doesn't mean you shouldn't too."

For the first time, Jondalar seemed to see her clearly. His vivid eyes were almost violet in the firelight, and they looked down at her with new clarity. "I wouldn't…" he trailed off. Marona had shifted a little, insinuating one leg against his groin in a strange parody of Ayla's actions earlier, and he found himself unable to hold back. Unwillingly, he felt himself begin to swell against her, his brain clocking one by one each place that they were touching; the feel her skin against his, her breasts pressed against him, the faint, rising mound of her pubic area through her scant skirt.

He shook his head, trying to clear it. He knew, somewhere, that it would be wrong to couple with her tonight, but the meaning behind the thought had become blurred in the haze of alcohol that permeated his brain. Hadn't she proved to him that she was a decent woman, under all that sharpness? And she'd apologised for…for Ayla… Jondalar struggled for the thought. He shouldn't be doing this because…it was something to do with Ayla.

"It's a Mother Festival," Marona purred, interrupting his train of thought, "wouldn't you like to share Pleasures with someone? Doesn't it make the Mother happy?" She pressed closer, then backed away. The cold air between them awoke Jondalar to her absence and he frowned. "But, if you don't want to, I can always find someone else."

For a moment Jondalar just stared, aching for another body against his, feeling the straining against his loincloth and his long repressed desires and then, like a breaking thread, something gave way.

"Get back here woman," he said with a grin, taking one long stride and wrapping his arms around her. Marona let out a delighted laugh as he dragged her into the cover of darkness towards the small copse he'd just left.

Within moments she was pressed with her back against a tree, and then his hands were roughly dragging her scant clothes from her, pressing her legs apart and guiding his swollen member into her on the second try. He groaned as he plunged himself deeply into her, feeling the heat of her surrounding him and dragging a wave of pleasure from him. She sighed, then gasped as he thrust hard, unable to resist, aching to feel himself fully encompassed as he did with Ayla and never quite getting there. She tried to arch to meet him but he grabbed her forcefully, and she felt the skin of her back chafing against the rough bark of the tree. Rumbling his frustration, Jondalar finally picked her up bodily, clasping his hands around her buttocks and thrusting fully into her. This time she gasped in pain as he hit against something within her, but moments later he'd adjusted himself and was pounding into her, his pleasure and excitement mounting until finally – finally, it was over. Waves of pleasure broke over him and he revelled in the release he'd been denied for so long. He let her legs fall back down, nuzzling into her neck and milking the last few shivers of delight she afforded.

Marona became aware of several things at once. The tree was digging painfully into her back as Jondalar's weight pressed her down, his breath was ripe with the fumy scent of alcohol, and she hadn't been satisfied. But overarching all that, overshadowing it all, was success. I've done it, she crowed inside. I've done it! I've stolen the man who chooses no other woman! The wave of satisfaction that particular realisation brought was almost enough to make up for her frustration. She'd done it. She had him, she'd had him, and nothing he or Ayla could do could change that. All that remained was to make him hers once more, and then she could strike back at that animal-loving bitch, just as she'd hoped.

-~oOo~-

A ray of sunlight streamed through the smoke hole in the tent roof, spreading heat and light through Jondalar's closed eyes. As he drifted into wakefulness he became aware of the pounding in his head, and then the aching in his limbs. Lifting his head with a groan, he braced a hand against his forehead, trying to blot out the pain that throbbed with every heartbeat. After a long moment, he opened his eyes.

The large communal tent he shared with his family and Zelandoni was empty, and the drape drawn back to reveal another dazzlingly blue sky beyond. His brow furrowed as another wave of pain shot through his skull, and his gaze fell to the small cup beside his bedroll. For a moment he stared at it, uncomprehending, and then a rush of grateful relief flowed through him. He brought it to his lips and tasted the strong, hot liquid. If she'd left her 'morning after' tea, then Ayla must have returned from her vigil already. He smiled as he thought of his mate, and then felt a faint thrill of foreboding pass through his gut. Frowning, he shook it off, drinking the rest of the tea down and lying back to let it do its work.

I must have drunk a lot, he thought. He struggled to piece his vague and scrambled memories together, remembering hands pressing cupfuls into his, remembering faces talking. He thought he remembered dancing along with the crowd, and drinking, and sampling the feasting foods. It _must_ have been a lot!

When the ache in his head began to ease, Jondalar got to his feet, pulling his clothes on and tying the leather thong that held his tools around his waist. The camp of the Ninth Cave was mostly deserted when he emerged, but Proleva remained at the campfire tending to a few young children and smiled a welcome as he approached.

"Too much of the barma?" she asked, laughter in her voice.

"Oh Mother, you would not believe," Jondalar groaned, falling to the ground beside her.

"Would you like some stew to ease your stomach then? There's a little left from last night. It's cold, but it's all we have at the moment." Jondalar smiled gratefully at her as she began to spoon out a little of the thick stew into his bowl.

There were dark rings around Proleva's eyes as well, he noticed, and he winked at the mate of his brother. "I think you were enjoying the Mother Festival too."

She laughed and batted his arm. It certainly seemed she had, if she was this playful. "I always do. Often I'll offer to look after the children, but Joharran tempted me out this time. I'd forgotten how much fun it could be," she said wistfully.

Jondalar felt another thrill of unease spread through him at her words, and turned back to his stew to cover it. He felt as if there were something he'd forgotten, some niggling detail he'd overlooked that was begging to be remembered. That feeling followed him right up until the camp had packed up. Ayla was up towards the meadow end of their camp with the horses, adjusting their loads while the rest of the Ninth Cave made ready to depart. Backframes were loaded and hoisted onto shoulders, tents packed, and the yellowed patches of grass they'd inhabited revealed. It was only because he was already packed and standing towards the fringes of the crowd that he noticed her approaching.

Over the crest of hill came a single figure, one whose swaying walk made her identifiable immediately. Marona. A chill shot through Jondalar's gut as he watched her, his mind grasping for the source of it. And then it flooded over him. He could feel her hair in his hands, the flesh of her buttocks, the warm depths of her gripping at him. He smelt the sweat of their coupling as clearly as if they'd just finished, and it made his stomach turn. That was _not_ a memory of their relationship in the past. It was too fresh, too raw, and all tangled up with his staggering, drunken haze.

Immediately he turned away, avoiding Marona's gaze and striding briskly towards where Ayla stood. Racer whinnied a greeting as he approached and pranced towards him, and she turned her head at the sound, greeting him with a full, brilliant smile. Jondalar felt his stomach twist into itself at the sight of it.

"I think even the horses are ready to leave," she said, reaching up to stroke Racer's jaw. It was lucky she did, because Jondalar was sure she would have picked up on the guilt that had flashed its way across his face if she had been looking. "Did you enjoy the Mother Festival?"

Jondalar swallowed. Could she already have realised? No…she wouldn't make a pointed comment like that. He pulled a weak smile across his face. "I did. But I'm not enjoying the after-effects."

"Didn't you find the tea I left?" she asked, surprised. It had always worked for him in the past.

Jondalar rubbed his stomach and gave her a rueful glance. "Yes. But I think I drank enough that not even your magic remedy could cure it." He matched his words with a smile, and saw her relax.

A moment later she'd stepped away from the horses and wrapped her arms around him, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. He breathed in the warm scent of her - that unique perfume that identified her as Ayla - and wondered how he could ever have wanted another woman. For a moment, he forgot about his fumblings with Marona and just bathed in the feel of her in his arms.

"I missed you last night," she murmured. "It wasn't the same."

"No," he said, throat tight. "It wasn't."

-~oOo~-

With Marona back at the Ninth Cave, Jondalar lived in a constant state of anxious anticipation. He'd avoided her attempts to speak to him almost completely although he was sure that his gradually more feeble excuses were not fooling anybody, least of all her. He just couldn't bring himself to face the inevitable crossfire that would come of it.

With sobriety returned to him he knew, without a doubt, that he'd made the wrong choice of woman that night. With his right mind returned to him he could hardly believe that he'd allowed himself to give in to his desires and couple with her, but the fact remained that he had. The woman who had publicly humiliated his mate, played spiteful and vicious games with her, and out of all the people of his cave behaved most abominably towards her. Friendship and reconciliation with the woman was one thing, but he knew beyond the shadow of a doubt how hurt Ayla would be if she ever found out. He felt as if his actions were a teetering lump of rock pitted in his stomach, one he carried around without cease. He was always waiting and always dreading the eventual discovery; singularly terrified of it. It had been a long, long time since he'd done something that would actively hurt her, and he could hardly bear to touch the thought of what she might do in return. Would she spurn him? Would she leave him? How could she want the man who'd willingly pleasured a woman who'd gone out of her way to make her life miserable? In his mind her final judgement grew to vast proportions.

And yet…and yet, despite everything in his heart telling him that he'd done wrong, he knew in his mind that he hadn't. The customs of his people were ones of openness and freedom of choice. Though it might be frowned upon by some as a poor choice, such things were overlooked as passions of the moment. He certainly had no desire to return to her now, not when his guilt wracked him night and day.

As time went on, people were beginning to notice. Jondalar had become withdrawn and curt, and though his acquaintances thought to wonder, to friends and family it was only too easy to put two and two together. Marona's unpredictable return to the Ninth Cave, coupled with Jondalar's sudden guilty silences made the reason an obvious one. What escaped them was the why. Besides, news travelled fast after a Mother Festival, especially about this particular man and his mate. Word of their choosing no one else had become something spoken of with awe and a certain degree of bemusement; the discovery of his new choice of partner was something of a disappointment to some, and a relief to others.

The only person who didn't seem to pick up on Jondalar's mood was – gratefully – his mate. With the preparations approaching for the completion of her Donier Tour, Ayla was so often away from the cave that his moods were easy to miss. Her sharp-eyed mentor, however, was not quite as easily distracted.

When the day arrived that Jondalar felt he could no longer bear the constant, nagging turmoil, Zelandoni found him. She scratched at the hide covering of his and Ayla's shared dwelling and entered without waiting. It was dark inside, and she frowned to see the man she was so fond of sitting alone while the sun still shone outside. He jumped to his feet as soon as he saw her, moving to arrange the leather pads she used as seating without her even needing to ask.

"Zelandoni!" he said, surprised. "I wasn't expecting you. Are you looking for Ayla?"

The One Who Was First settled herself into her seat before answering, taking her time. She wasn't above using her presence and silence to bring her old lover into the right frame of mind to speak of such things. She knew more than anyone how difficult he could be when it came to broaching personal topics. "No Jondalar," she said finally, "I've come to speak to you."

The blonde man raised his head, startled. She was sure it was the last thing he had been expecting to hear, especially after he had become so wrapped up in himself. He was so distracted by his own self-pity and recrimination that he hadn't noticed the effects it was having on others.

"Me?" he repeated numbly. Then he laughed, but it rang hollow. "Why me?"

Zelandoni frowned at him and he seemed to draw back into himself. "Why do you think?" she asked pointedly. "I think we both know the answer."

As if a mask had fallen away, his face became a contorted sea of self-hate, disgust and guilt. "Because," he hesitated, then heaved a great sigh, "I've done something that will hurt Ayla."

Zelandoni was silent for a moment as she watched him. When she opened her mouth to speak, it was with careful consideration. "Did you do it with the intention of hurting her?"

"No!" he blurted. "No, never…"

"Why did you do it?"

Under Zelandoni's intense gaze, Jondalar practically squirmed. "I-" he struggled for the words, before burying his head in his hands. "I don't know."

"You did it," Zelandoni began, answering for him, "because the woman you love, whom you are mated to, is undergoing the most difficult part of her training. Do you know why it is considered the most difficult?"

Jondalar shook his head, his face still a mask of misery, but Zelandoni was pleased to see that he was at least looking at her.

"It is considered the most difficult because it is the part that separates her most from her family, her friends, and – if the acolyte has one – her mate." The faintest stirrings of comprehension seemed to begin. "This is why they are called the Trials. Among the zelandonia we know that these trials are not just for her – they are also important for her mate. A Zelandoni who is mated needs to know that her mate is capable of living with her and loving her, even when that love is tested most. Now do you understand why most Zelandoni remain unmated?"

Jondalar looked up, meeting her eyes with his own anguished pair. "But I haven't-"

"You haven't what?" she asked sharply. "Are you saying to me that you don't love her? That you wish me to cut the knot?"

"Never!" he rasped, the edge of a sob entering his voice. "Never."

"Honouring the Mother is never something to be ashamed of," She Who Is First told him, her expression softening. "At Mother Festivals, it is expected. Ayla must undergo abstinence because it is important for a Zelandoni to understand what it means to go without, and what thoughts and feelings come from that experience. It was never expected of her mate to do the same." Slow comprehension seemed to drift across his face as she spoke. Zelandoni graced him with a small smile. "To be honest, I'm surprised that you waited this long; that alone shows your devotion to her."

For a moment they were silent. Zelandoni watched the play of expressions across Jondalar's face as he absorbed the information she'd presented.

"It's strange," he said finally. "All I could think of was how much I'd have hurt her if she ever found out. I just wished I could take it all back."

Zelandoni nodded slowly. "I wouldn't have recommended Marona as the best choice," she said, watching the way Jondalar's eyes flitted nervously to the hide drape at the mention of her name, "but you could have chosen worse. In a way, it's easier, because you already know her faults and can guard yourself against them. If she is what it takes to unburden yourself while Ayla is undergoing her trials, then you should not feel ashamed of your needs."

-~oOo~-

The winter passed slowly for Jondalar. More often than not he could be found out with the hunting parties than inside working, though as the snow closed in and buried the surrounding landscape, Jondalar found himself confined to the cave once more. The level of inactivity provided brief respite for him as Ayla's duties diminished and she indulged her family with her attention, but it was marred by his own lingering doubts. Whatever Zelandoni had said, a small part of him still felt ashamed.

By now there was little doubt that most of the Ninth Cave knew what had occurred between them, and Marona didn't make it any easier. She tried constantly to provoke some interaction with him, even going so far as to wear clothes quite unsuited to the cold weather in an effort to tempt him in, but Jondalar was adamant. His shame kept her at arm's length, and as the winter drew on her efforts withdrew.

At first he experienced relief. His mate and the daughter of his hearth were back together and Ayla was engaged with them once more, Marona had stopped seeking his attention, and he was free to relax. But as the winter drew to a close and the snows began to melt, Jondalar found himself struggling once more.

Not since the end of the summer had he shared Pleasures, and it was over one moon cycle before that with Ayla. As time drew on it was beginning to show. He tossed and turned in the bed furs each night, unbearably aware of Ayla's soft, naked body lying just a hand's breadth away from him. He would lay awake, staring into the blackness of their dwelling and up at the dim abri ceiling without seeing it, his mind drifting inexorably closer to fantasies of them coupling, of her hot mouth closing around him, of exploring her every fold and crevice, of sinking into her perfect depths. He grew hot and fevery even in the cold nights and barely a touch was enough to make him spill his seed, but after the first expression of disappointment and longing when Ayla found the marks on their furs he tried to deny himself. When he found himself pushing her away from him as she moved to cuddle for fear of being unable to restrain himself, he realised that things had gone too far.

One morning when Ayla had taken Jonayla and Wolf out to gather the first of the spring greens, Jondalar tracked down Marona. He found her sitting just outside her dwelling fixing a tear in one of her favourite outfits, and he couldn't help remembering how good that particular outfit had looked on her: how the reddish fringe had swung as she walked, how easy it had been to pull it off her…

"Marona," he greeted her. She raised her head, surprise etched into her features quickly followed by a sneer as she turned back to her work.

"So, the great Jondalar is prepared to talk to me now?" she asked, not even looking up.

Jondalar cringed. He hadn't even thought about the effect he'd had on her, he'd been so wrapped up in his own shame. Making an impromptu decision, he hunkered down on his knees until he was at her eye level. With one gentle hand he cupped her chin, forcing her to raise her eyes and meet his. She resisted at first, her pride and anger still warring with her desire to see him, but when her eyes met his it was all she could do not to melt in the desire she saw there.

"Marona," Jondalar said in a husky voice, "I'm sorry. I've treated you very badly."

"You have," she agreed, her face haughty.

"I want to make it up to you."

For a moment she struggled with herself, and then a slow smile spread across her face. "You will."

-~oOo~-

Making it up to her was not as easy as he'd thought it would be. Marona had been well and truly humiliated by his sudden refusal of her after their coupling, especially since everyone had known about it, and she was proud enough to make him work for his reparations. With the balance of power returned to her, she went out of her way to provoke him. She wore low tops and reddish fringes that dangled tantalisingly as she moved, she brushed against him as she passed, and in dark, quiet corners she pressed herself against him until she could feel his manhood rising to its full hardness. But as soon as Jondalar tried to grab her, to take it further, she would dance away and return to her business as if nothing had happened.

It was maddening. But somehow, with the promise of Pleasures lingering so close, Jondalar was able to devote himself to Ayla more fully, without the threat of losing control. He never, ever wanted to force his mate, and neither did he want to force her to go through this particular part of the Trials again. Knowing that Marona was only on the other side of the abri and that their game of flirting was just that made it possible for him to resist his desires.

When Spring had finally warmed to Summer, Marona seemed unable to keep him waiting any longer. On one long, secluded afternoon when most of the Ninth Cave had joined the Third Cave on a reindeer drive, Jondalar reacquainted himself with his old lover's body. This was no drunken scramble. Jondalar took his time in rediscovering her favourite parts, of dipping in for a taste at her most secret places, and delighted in being able to practise his 'other craft' with such leisure. By the time Marona's cries of pleasure had ceased, he couldn't think of anything he'd longed for more…except, of course, when she began her own ministrations. Jondalar had wondered whether his memories of her skill had been glazed with nostalgia, but as soon as she began he knew that he'd been right. She really did know how to please a man.

-~oOo~-

Though they continued to couple well into summer, Jondalar found himself looking forward evermore to his departure for the last leg of Ayla's Donier Tour. Their continuing journey also signalled a welcome end to her trials, and Jondalar was looking forward to getting some time with Ayla. He knew he'd be travelling with her, and he found himself quickening at the idea of the intimate moments they'd be able to share. Travelling for him had forever become entangled with the joys of being able to share Pleasures wherever and whenever they liked, and with his anticipation rising he found his interest in Marona beginning to wane. She'd noticed his declining attention and begun to use more underhanded tactics to bring him to her bed, and more than once Jondalar found himself turning to her out of a feeling of duty and guilt over his past treatment rather than any true desire. She delighted him and pleased him, but he never experienced the rush of emotion he did when he was with Ayla, and more than anything else he missed being able to share that with her.

The journey started well, and Jondalar fell easily back into the routines of travelling. But as time went on, and they pushed harder and faster, there never seemed to be the time he'd expected to spend with his mate. Caves rolled past, one after another, and more than once his caught himself wishing that Zelandoni would let them alone for a few hours and forego a cave just so they could share their time for once. More than one evening was spent in miserable loneliness while Ayla returned with the local zelandonia to a secret ritual. With only Wolf for company, Jondalar found himself withdrawing, struggling to prevent the retorts that rose in his throat when she told him where she was going. It wasn't her fault, after all.

It wasn't until Balderan's attempt on her life that Jondalar brooked no refusal. That night he drew her to him in the furs, uncaring of the others that shared the large travel tent, and mapped her body over and over, until he felt he could have carved it with his eyes closed. He spoke her name again and again, revelling in the sound of it, her scent, her closeness, the way she was _his_.

"I missed you," she whispered into his neck, her voice muddled with sleep, and Jondalar tenderly brushed a stray strand of hair back from her face. This was the Ayla he loved. His Ayla.

-~oOo~-

Jondalar felt he should have known; good things never last. Zelandoni had immediately set Ayla to watching the cycles of the moon and sun upon their return, and Jondalar had never felt his heart sink further. He felt a bright burst of resentment towards Zelandoni for taking Ayla further and further away from him, at a time when he felt he needed her more and more.

And still, Marona was always there to help ease his tension. She went out of her way to make herself available to him, planning ways to intercept him and wondering how better to take advantage of the building resentment she sensed within him. If ever there was a talent she had, it was nurturing that resentment. She used every wile, every trick she had to make herself seem the better option; she suggested that Ayla was tired, expressed concern over him bothering her, lent a sympathetic ear to his frustrations, reminded him of how poorly he'd treated her and how much he owed her still, and all the while waited for the moment that would finally present itself to tear them in two. After more than a year she'd grown good at keeping her own resentment towards Ayla and Zelandoni hidden, though it still sang in her breast whenever she thought of them – particularly Jondalar's blonde mate. In the evenings when Jondalar lay asleep in her furs she fantasised of a time in the future when he was mated to her, and Ayla was as shamed, belittled and humiliated as she could be. She dreamt of watching her cast out, and that child with her, taking those hated animals and leaving them forever.

But though she tried her best to lure him in, there was something that Marona seemed to lack. Though Jondalar's sexual appetite was being satisfied, he felt as if there were a growing hole within him, one that never seemed to leave. It tugged at him when he stared after his mate, and sent lances of unhappiness into his belly after each coupling with Marona. He occasionally found himself wondering whether Ayla was right about men and women, and after the end of each coupling he found himself feeling a guilty surge of gladness that Marona showed no sign of ever being able to bear a child. What could be worse than a child of his spirit coming from her? Ayla would certainly guess and guess rightly about his continued involvement. This dalliance with his old flame had gone on far longer than he'd anticipated; Marona was satisfying in her way but she was no Ayla, and Ayla was the one he wanted.

Each morning when his mate returned Jondalar found himself sitting beside their bed furs, drinking in the sight of her. Even in sleep her face was creased with stress and worry, and he ached to be able to smooth it from her heart and make her smile again. He'd asked Zelandoni once about the markings of the sun and moon, and she'd given him a pitying glance. She of all people knew how hard it was for him.

"In a way, this is another part of the trials," she'd told him. "It is important for her to learn of the cycles of the celestial bodies, but it is also designed to show her how much we rely on the light of the sun. Acolytes leave with true understanding of Bali, the Mother's bright son. Without him to show us when to be awake and when to sleep, we would lose ourselves to evil spirits. That is why no zelandonia ever watches the moon and the sun for more than a year."

When he'd heard her explanation, Jondalar had shaken his head with discontent. He'd already seen the changes in Ayla as she took on a nocturnal lifestyle. She slept when others woke, watched the skies when they were asleep, and it was all too obvious how hard it was for her. She saw less of everyone in the cave now, not just Jondalar and her daughter, and when she did wake to the sunlight she squinted and showed dark smudges circling her eyes. Jondalar's worry began to manifest itself in treating her as if she were something fragile. He no longer even considered making their 'signal' when she looked that worn down, not when it was clear that all she really needed was sleep. He left food and tea for her in the afternoons when she woke, and relished the brief hours they had together before he turned in to the furs and she made her way up to the Falling Rock. When the night came that she returned early and woke him, Jondalar was almost afraid to touch her – though that worry faded quickly into longing. When he fell asleep with her wrapped in his arms, Jondalar found himself struggling to remember the last time he'd felt as calm and at peace.

A small, confused part of him was sometimes glad that Ayla's markings took her away from him during daylight hours, because Marona was beginning to take advantage of her place in Jondalar's affections. She invited herself to meals shared by his family, playfully demanded his attentions when he should be working, and more than once casually borrowed something that was 'his'. Jondalar drew the line when he found her using a flint knife he'd hafted and given to Ayla as a gift; the last thing he needed was for his mate to find it in Marona's hands.

By the time Spring was approaching once more, Marona had become something of an annoyance. In the close quarters of the Ninth Cave, everyone knew what was occurring between them, and Jondalar was beginning to experience misgivings about his continuing involvement with her. The few times he stopped to think about it he found fewer and fewer reasons to justify it, particularly after he found himself turning down his new apprentice Norava when she made her interest in him known.

"Why do I do it?" Jondalar asked his brother. The older man's face was warmed by the glow of the fire around which they sat, and each man's hand was clasped around a small cup of Marthona's wine.

Joharran took a sip of his wine and regarded his younger brother with a frank expression. "Do you really want the answer?" he asked.

Jondalar frowned at him. "Yes. Of course I do. Why wouldn't I?"

Joharran shook his head, his weariness evident. "Brother, you continue with that woman because you are lazy, and because you can't bear to face the argument that will come from it." Jondalar opened his mouth in angry protest, but Joharran cut straight across him. "It's too easy for you to hide your head and pretend nothing is happening. This way you don't upset Marona, and you don't let Ayla find out. But you have to know it can't last."

Jondalar shut his mouth and let his head hang. He felt as if his brother had just dealt him a blow; one he wasn't capable of bearing. "I know," he whispered finally. "The longer I leave it, the worse it will be if Ayla ever finds out. It makes it seem like I…like I approve of what Marona did. Mother knows I don't!"

Joharran drained the last of his wine and stood. "Then make it clear to her that it's ended."

His brother left Jondalar where he sat, staring into the dying flames. "I wish I could," he mumbled. "I wish it was that easy."

Jondalar had never been a man who enjoyed conflict. But he'd also never been a man who'd had to deal with it; there had always been someone else there to deal with it for him. Never in his life had he had to face up the consequences of his actions and make a decision like this – in fact, he'd gone out of his way to avoid it. Part of the reason he'd enjoyed participating in First Rites so much was the cast iron excuse he had not to continue seeing them after that one glorious night. He'd left on a Journey to the other side of the world just to avoid getting into a conflict with Marona, and all the women along the way had known perfectly well that he wouldn't be staying. For the first time in his life, Jondalar was facing a situation with no way out. Every path seemed to lead to the same result: if he told Marona that it was over, he knew that the first thing she would do was tell Ayla, but if he continued then it was only a matter of time before she found out.

This summer, after the Longday, he told himself. I'll end it then. Marona won't want to stay at the Ninth Cave then; she'll go back to the Fifth or visit her cousins. I'll even bargain with her not to tell Ayla; she's not fool enough to turn down what I could offer her as recompense. Yes, he thought, that would be for the best.

There was a time, Jondalar mused, when he'd shared Pleasures with her simply because of his guilt over how he'd treated her. In a way, he was almost glad that he'd become involved with her once more. It had allowed him to relinquish his guilt and begin to look at her objectively. He liked her, and especially liked the way she made him feel, but Marona wasn't entirely able to hide her vindictive nature from him in such close quarters. Though she was adoring and eager to please when she was with him, more than once he'd caught the malice with which she regarded others, and that sight made any budding feelings of fondness dissipate. By the time they were making ready to leave for the Summer Meeting, Jondalar was more than ready to return to his mate. With the promise of her returning to him after Summer Longday, he felt as if a long and drawn out sentence had just come to an end.

Besides, Marona was becoming far too familiar with him. A few days before Joharran had planned to leave, she found him sitting in the sunny stone porch of the abri and as she approached she bent down next to him to plant a kiss on his neck. Jondalar had heard her approach behind, but he hadn't expected her greeting. He jerked away in alarm, staring up at her with raised eyebrows.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, looking frantically around for Ayla. In the grassy field below, he could see the slim form of his mate astride Whinney, and he felt a sudden lurch of worry that she might have seen.

Marona drew back, her face shuttering. "I was coming to invite you to share some food, but perhaps I made a mistake."

Jondalar's irritation fell from his face as he observed the hurt he'd caused with his rejection. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to act like that. You just surprised me."

Marona nodded her acceptance, but the air between them remained stilted. Jondalar experienced an impulse to apologise again, and quickly tamped down on it. When he showed no further signs of repentance, Marona broke the silence. "I heard that you agreed to let Proleva pack some baskets onto the pole-drag," she said finally. "If you're taking other people's things to the Summer Meeting then I certainly have some items I'd like to take with me."

Jondalar looked up at her in surprise. "But there's not enough room."

Marona's eyebrows rose. "There's room enough for Proleva's baskets but not for a few little things of the woman who shares your furs?"

Jondalar found his brows contracting in annoyance at her assumption of status. "Proleva is the mate of my brother, and the mate of the leader."

Marona stared at him for one long moment, reading the unspoken lines, before she stormed away. The _and you're nobody_ was too hard for her to bear.

-~oOo~-

Knowing that end of their relationship was approaching fast, Jondalar allowed himself to enjoy Marona's company in full confidence. Without Ayla around, he felt unashamed of being seen with the attractive woman and more than once he allowed her to touch or embrace him in sight of others. He felt relaxed enough that he even returned her gestures of affection, which delighted Marona no end. Many of those present at the Summer Meeting took this as a sign that Jondalar was preparing to take a second woman, considering what little they knew of the Ninth Cave's activities over the year, and Marona did nothing to discourage this. It made her swell with pride and smugness to think that Jondalar might be considering taking her as his mate, though she happily ignored the talk of her being a 'second woman'. This new wave of casual intimacy smoothed over her anger at his earlier dismissal, and Marona enjoyed the other Caves' assumptions of her status. Certainly, Jondalar's actions seemed to confirm it.

Marona began to take her meals with Jondalar and his family, and though Jondalar was oblivious to the carefully guarded dislike his friends and family held for her, Marona wasn't. Rather, she delighted in it. There was little she loved more than to be able to make demands on Joharran and Proleva, or feign fondness of Jonayla simply to watch Folara's lip curl.

When Jondalar began to take her to the secluded pool upstream from the Ninth Cave's camp, Marona could hardly contain her satisfaction. They shared Pleasures as they hadn't in a long while, now that Jondalar felt he could truly relax.

"Marona?" Jondalar asked, his voice pitched low and his serious eyes turned towards hers. She twisted herself and snuggled closer on the soft hide, enjoying the soft sunlight that warmed her back.

"Yes?" she probed. Jondalar's brow furrowed, and he looked as if he were struggling for the words he wanted.

"I want you to do one thing for me. Just one." Marona nodded, her curiosity overcoming her. "I want you to promise that whatever happens, you won't tell Ayla about us."

Marona felt the warmth drain from her expression. She sat up, pulling away from his embrace and directing a haughty scowl down at him. "Why? Are you ashamed?"

"No," Jondalar said, pushing himself up on his elbows. "No I'm not. But if you tell her, then that will cause a lot of trouble. You know that, or you would have already. You know these things…if there's no need to tell her, then why should you? It's not the Zelandonii way."

Marona struggled with herself, torn between her desire to please the man before her and her desire to cause his mate pain. In the end, he won out. "Fine," she said. "I won't tell her."

The smile that bloomed across Jondalar's face almost made it all worth it. For a moment he just held her eyes with his, before breaking the contact and pulling himself to his feet. "I think I might go for a swim," he said.

Marona watched him for a moment, enjoying the play of muscles over his back and down his legs as he walked before following him into the pool. She caught her breath at the coldness of the stream fed water, holding back for a moment before forcing herself to dunk under the surface. She left her head free of the water and swam out to meet him. Jondalar had already ducked under the water and when he emerged his face was dripping. Chuckling, he flicked his hair back, sending a spray of water at her.

"Hey!" she protested. Jondalar's grin only widened, and he deliberately pushed a wave of water over her head with a huge splash.

Marona surfaced, spluttering, and when Jondalar saw the indignant expression on her face he let out a bark of exuberant laughter that Marona couldn't help responding to. Beckoning her with his head, Jondalar started back out of the water. When she caught sight of him, still dripping from their dip and his face relaxed and smiling, Marona couldn't resist. She moved towards him, pressing herself up against him and tilting her face back for a long, deep kiss. Jondalar's hands found her body and guided her back towards the hide they'd been using, but it was all she could do to keep herself off him. When her feet touched the soft leather, she leant back towards him for another kiss, unable to hold back. Then she withdrew, smiling in satisfaction to see the desire in his eyes, and dropped to her knees.

By the time his manhood had swelled to rigidity, Marona was aware of nothing else. But Jondalar wasn't.

"Who's there? What's going on?" he shouted, and Marona backed off to look at him in surprise. Already his manhood was shrinking, and she could only stare after him as he began to push through the low brush that surrounded their swimming place. Who cared if someone was watching them? With the sight they made, who wouldn't want to? she thought.

It was only when she heard his next words that her ears pricked up. "Ayla?" She heard the shock in his voice. "Ayla! What are you doing here?"

Marona's mouth curved up in a vicious smile. It looked like she wouldn't have to break her promise after all.

-~oOo~-


End file.
